Chapter 6 #3
Asshole. Fucking asshole. Who is he to punish me? He’s a common criminal, a stranger who dares shoot people, and what the fuck did he do to Dave? Did he kill him too? Should I be afraid now?
My head is hanging down next to his legs. I decide to take advantage of that and bite his calf. There’s thick pant fabric in the way, which makes it hard, but I decide that means I can bite as hard as I want.
He grunts, which for a man like him, probably means it hurts. Good. I don’t let go. I keep…
“Ow!” I gasp as his palm comes down hard on the back of my thighs, a harsh slap that sends a cold chill rushing through me. He grabs the back of my hair and pulls my head up.
“Bite me again and you will get a caning,” he says. “I will tie you down and I will beat this ass until you cry. There will be no mercy whatsoever for you. Understand?”
“Yes,” I squeak.
“Good,” he says. “Right now I’m just spanking your little ass. This can be a lot worse. You haven’t been disciplined enough to understand just how much worse it can be, but you are well on the way to making those discoveries.”
Those are some stone-cold warnings, and they sink through my mind.
I can’t fight him. That’s the simple truth.
He’s bigger than me. He’s stronger than me.
He’s a monster of some kind, the kind that could easily devour me whole.
I wanted to fight him, but this isn’t the way.
I have to be smart and sneaky. I have to let him think he’s winning.
I let myself sniffle and sob over his lap, going soft and submissive. I let him think he has won, because he has.
“I am going to take care of you,” he says. “And that means getting you under control.”
He smooths his hand over my ass a few times, settling some of the sting.
I don’t like pain, and I don’t like him. I can’t stay here. I cannot be a captive. That’s so… Viking era. Women these days don’t have time to be taken from their families and their lives just to be ravaged by strange men who wear face coverings indoors.
He pats my ass almost thoughtfully, as if he’s not quite sure what to do with me next.
“You’re probably going to try to run away,” he says thoughtfully. “I wonder if I should chain you up.”
“Please don’t,” I say.
“Or I have a cage. You could live in that, being let out to pee sometimes and be used for my pleasure.”
It flashes through my mind that he’s fucking with me. He can’t be serious. But then I realize there’s absolutely no reason for him not to be serious. He’s the sort of man who shoots other men and kidnaps women. He could quite literally try to keep me from the outside world for decades.
“Breathe,” he says. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Says the man who is threatening me with humiliating confinement.
“I have classes to go to,” I tell him. “I’m trying to get a degree. I’m trying to have a better life.”
“Look around you,” he says. “Do you not see what a nice place you’ve landed in?”
“Looks old,” I say.
He smacks me again.
“You manage to have quite the mouth on you when you’re scared,” he observes. “This is an older home, but it is also a very large and nicely appointed one. I am fortunate enough to have done well financially in my life, and I am looking to share that.”
He sounds like a dating app blurb, except he still has me over his muscular, murderous knee.
“You need to be looked after,” he continues. “You need to be provided for and punished when necessary. You want it. You crave it. That is why you’ve given yourself every time I have wanted to take you.”
He’s trying to make me complicit in my own kidnapping.
Telling me I want this when he already told me it doesn’t matter what I want.
He’s about to start seeing a different side of me.
I’ve been too compliant. Too fucking aroused.
I’ve followed my body’s instincts, forgetting that my body was forged long ago in a world where there were no laws to protect women from anything and siding with big predatory males was a good survival tactic.
We are all constantly fighting our instincts, and this is a perfect time for me to start.
“I’m not some submissive little fucking captive,” I tell him. “I’m a waitress, I’m a babysitter. I’m a student.”
He snorts gently with laughter. “You say those things as if I should be intimidated or impressed.”
“Buddy, you couldn’t handle one fucking day of my life.”
He smacks my ass again, but not as hard as before. I think I’m amusing him. That’s not really the effect I was going for, but okay.
“Could I not, Laura?”
“No. You couldn’t even handle me telling you I didn’t want to be your captive.
You’d lose your mind if table three sent back pasta three times and then it turned out they just wanted fries.
You wouldn’t be able to last an hour in my world without shooting someone in the face.
I’m stronger than you, because I can take it. ”
I feel him rocking gently beneath me as he laughs. “Laura,” he says. “You don’t know me well enough to know what I can and cannot take.”
“That’s because this is our first real conversation and you’re a weirdo who wears a mask to capture women who are probably half his age, you fucking weirdo.”
I’m being repetitive, but it’s hard to form good insults when you’re hanging head down toward the carpet and also fearing a bit for your life but also being very annoyed because you really actually do not have time for this.
“You’re starting to become disrespectful again,” he warns me.
I take the risk of scrambling up from his lap. To my surprise, he lets me. I turn around on the bed, ignoring my sore ass in order to confront him face to face—or eye to eye as it happens to be on this occasion because he’s still got that stupid mask on.
“I’d be more scared if you weren’t constantly keeping your face from me,” I tell him. “You’re like a shitty bank robber or something.”
His pupils narrow a little. He didn’t like that. Good. Fuck him.
***
She is giving me some real attitude now. Interesting. She’s obviously going to be the type to need a longer, harder, much more painful spanking. For the moment I let her have her little tirade. This is the first time we have really talked, and I am enjoying her spice.
“There’s no point keeping me here,” she argues. “You’re going to get bored of me.”
I could never get bored of her. But I don’t tell her that. I tell her something else instead.
“I want you to have my babies, Laura.”
Her eyes widen. Her mouth opens in shock. She didn’t expect me to say that.
“Oh, Christ,” she says. “Seriously?”
“You object?”‘
She twists her face up at me, as if I just said something very, very stupid.
“And are the babies also going to be captive, or are they going to go to school and talk about their mom in a box? You’re not thinking this through,” she says, tapping the side of her head. “It’s not practical. Plus there’re maternal health appointments…”
“I’ll have doctors come here.”
“Riighhhhhhht,” she says. “Doctors, the people who love to help people. They’re going to attend a trapped woman who is chained to a bed and pregnant, or kept in a cage. I bet there’s a whole lot of…”
“Not every doctor wants to help people.”
“Oh, so you’re going to get an evil doctor to look after your unborn child.” She shakes her head at me. “Good idea. Have an evil doctor deliver your baby. Good one. Idiot.”
She’s going to pay for all this attitude, but it still amuses me to let her keep talking.
The fact that she thinks there is such a thing as an evil doctor, as opposed to one paid very well to keep quiet, and aware that breaking my confidence would mean certain death, shows a charming innocence in her thought process.
Laura does not understand the world, no matter how keen she might be to plumb its darkness from time to time.
“I’m sorry, do you have a better idea?”
“Keeping people captive is so 2001,” she says. “It’s outdated. And old. Like you probably are.”
She is fucking with me. The woman I am trying to hold as a prisoner in my home has the nerve to mock me for doing it. I cock my head to the side and remain silent, waiting for her to work out that she’s gone too far.
She squeals with laughter as I sweep the tray away from her.
“You have to wear a balaclava in your own home? Are you going to watch television in it?” She’s still laughing as I throw her over my lap and start spanking her impudent ass again.
“What else are you going to do? Shower in it?”
I spank harder, until the little verbal barbs turn into gasps and real squeals of pain.
“Ow!” she whines. “I’m sorry!”
“Are you?”
“Sorry you have this stupid idea of kidnapping me and making me pregnant. Having kids sucks, and your nice old house isn’t going to stay nice very long with a bunch of captive kids running around it.
Are you going to kidnap childcare workers as well?
A pediatrician? You going to kidnap a whole service industry?
” She’s laughing now, as if the idea is so outlandish she can’t fathom it.
It’s cute, in a way, that she does not truly understand I could just lock her in a basement and keep her there for years.
She’s aware of the concept, of course. I know that, because I taught her about it myself not that long ago.
But there is a world of difference between understanding that these things happen to other people, and really getting that they are happening to you personally.
I spank her longer, not harder. Her cute round ass is getting very, very red, and I don’t want to leave too many marks and bruises on her.
She’s the type to need frequent discipline and as tempting as it might be to beat the hell out of her insubordinate, disrespectful little ass, I don’t want her entirely broken. Not yet.
“Owwww!” she complains, sounding petulant and childlike, as if she’s shocked that the man she saw kill someone in cold blood not twenty-four hours ago might be capable of inflicting real pain.
“You’ve had your fun,” I tell her. “It’s time to behave yourself now.
You’re mine. I know you haven’t come to terms with that, and you’re trying to fight it because it scares you, but you are.
You gave yourself to me already over and over, and you know as well as I do that this hungry little hole wants to be dominated and owned. ”
I slide my hand down between her thighs and press two fingers inside her. She’s wet, of course. The stimulation from being spanked and the excitement of captivity has left her absolutely soaked with arousal.
The moan she makes is very gratifying. She needs to be taken, this little brat. She needs to be impaled on my cock and made to come until she remembers her place. The only time she’s truly obedient is when I have her wrapped around my dick.
“Tell me,” I growl, one hand in her hair, pressing her against the mattress, the other sluicing into her tight little pussy. “Tell me that you’re mine.”
She makes a muffled sound of complaint, but all I do is pull my fingers out, smack her hard across both cheeks, then press them firmly back inside.
“Tell me that you are mine with your words, or I will make you tell me with your body.”
That’s when she really starts to fight. Every captive reaches this point eventually, a last-ditch attempt to assert autonomy. This is the fight I really have to win.
I smack her ass, which only serves to make her more fractious. She flips around on my lap, struggling like a fish out of water, and grabs for my face. She might be trying to gouge my eyes, and she doesn’t succeed at that. But she does get a good grip on my balaclava.
A moment later, it is off.
Her eyes widen.
“You!”
“Not the reveal I had planned, but yes. Me.”